


“With you, intimacy colours my voice / even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’.”

by youareariot (rhaego)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Romance, promo 2x15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhaego/pseuds/youareariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do not know how long you stay in each other’s arms, finding yourself only being able to measure time to the rhythm of her breathing, the rapid staccato of her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“With you, intimacy colours my voice / even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’.”

” _Clarke._ ”

You do not mean for your voice to sound so hoarse as you finally turn to her, once sure that the last of your Generals have left the tent, their shouts of ‘jus drein jus daun’ still ringing in your ears (and yet her rising voice is still the clearest in your mind), but delight courses through your veins when you see the shiver it brings out in her. Anticipation closely follows as Clarke’s face suddenly hardens and she pretty much _stalks_ the few meters separating you both.

For one breathless moment, you forget yourself and wonder if she is going to give you a parting kiss as a good luck token for the battle ahead but instead, as Clarke seems to make a habit out of it, she surprises you once more and throws her arms around your neck and in one swift movement, brings your bodies flush. Heat flares up instantly and it takes you only a few disbelieving blinks to snap out of the haze she always throws you into, to return the hug just as fiercely.

(You do not know how long you stay in each other’s arms, finding yourself only being able to measure time to the rhythm of her breathing, the rapid staccato of her heart.)

When you try to draw back, wishing to look upon her face again to gauge what might have brought this, Clarke’s fingers tighten on the nape of your neck and you freeze. Unable to stay away for long or refuse her, you sway back into her as your foreheads rest together, sharing breath, drawing strength from each other. Your own grip on her hips is bruising and yet she does not flinch away from you, seemingly content to bask in the moment, eyes fluttering close as if suddenly grounded by the embrace, now that you don’t appear to go anywhere anytime soon.

"Return to me, Clarke", you find yourself whispering, suddenly a little less imperious, merely a girl, finding it easier to shrug off the Commander persona the longer she stays in your arms.

(In the privacy of your own mind, you find yourself praying to the gods, old and new.

_Let me have this. **Please.** Let me have this_.)


End file.
